What Happens at the Lima Park Community Pool
by leftlanden
Summary: Santana, forced out of the house and into a job search, brightens her summer a little when she runs into an initially unrecognizable Quinn Fabray at the local pool.  Complete.


Santana idled the engine of her father's car on the fifth floor of the Lima Heights Galleria parking garage, her pride still smarting from the past hour's events.

It was bad enough that her parents had forced her to get out and apply for summer jobs. It was even worse that every boutique had turned her away without so much as a cursory "we'll call you if we need you." God, it was as if getting busted shoplifting here twice last summer had blacklisted her in the whole place for life.

She had come here because this was the only acceptable place to work retail, if one must, in the whole godforsaken town. The idea of working at the regular mall where any random from school could catch her toiling like a day laborer made her blood run cold. And she'd already exhausted the file clerking possibilities; every office in Lima had neglected to call regarding her resume. Which was incomprehensible, given that she'd fabricated three whole jobs, extensive volunteer projects, and a thorough set of special skills. They should be banging down her door, and not just for a job but for a Nobel Prize in economics and possibly eventual beatification.

This was clearly shaping up to be the shittiest summer ever. No cheerleading, no Brittany, no credit cards. Why her parents picked now to try to force a sense of responsibility upon her, she could not understand. Why not just wait and let her flunk out of her first semester of college like every other reality-challenged spoiled child in the world?

She reapplied her lip gloss in the rear view mirror and backed out of her space. She couldn't go home yet – her mother was working from her home office and would send her right back out. So now what?

As luck would have it, a new idea presented itself as she rolled to a stop at the corner of Birch and Main, where an obnoxious horde of neighborhood kids draped in brightly colored beach towels ran across the street against the light. Her next move suddenly became obvious. Why hadn't she thought to be a lifeguard at the public pool two days ago, and saved herself the humiliation of having to sit politely for interviews with middle-aged women who couldn't blend their makeup properly? Sure, she had no training and could barely swim, but how often do you actually need those skills? Basically never. You get paid for sitting around in the sun all day, and everyone in the neighborhood gets the chance to admire you in a bikini. That was probably something Santana could put up with for a few months. She pulled a U-turn and headed home to change into her swimsuit. Now that was the kind of interview attire that worked in her favor.

Half an hour later she pulled into the parking lot of the Lima Park Community Pool wearing a black two piece bathing suit – only her second-most revealing, because she wanted to be sure she was keeping it classy. The problem was that it wasn't entirely clear where to go to ask someone about employment. There was a gray-haired woman staffing the admission window, but that wasn't exactly her target audience, here. The two Abercrombie & Fitch-esque college boy lifeguards in red swim trunks hanging out on the other side of the entry way seemed like a better bet. She paid her three dollars and headed inside, plastering a charming smile on her face and throwing her shoulders back.

The lifeguards paused their conversation and turned their heads to follow her as she walked right past them. Something else had caught Santana's eye.

Sweet Jesus, was it possible? Was there another cute, gay girl in Lima?

Santana, a fledgling in the fine art of checking out hot girls, caught herself gaping. She snapped to attention and fumbled in her bag for her phone, taking it out and scrolling intently through old text messages.

The object of her attention, her back to Santana at the far end of the pool, was wrapping a towel around her waist, regrettably covering up a skimpy pink bikini. Messy, purple-streaked blonde hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders fell across her face. Santana was momentarily possessed by a disturbingly vivid mental image featuring the fingers of both of her hands embedded in it.

It looked like the girl was leaving. Santana, still pretending to stare at her phone and aided in her stalking by her dark glasses, gravitated casually toward the path between the girl and the exit. She no doubt would have recognized her sooner if she hadn't been staring at her abs rather than her face. She was no Britts in that department, but who was, really, and these were sure good enough to – hey, wait a second.

Oh no. No, no, no. Somebody kill her now. Santana dropped her phone on the sidewalk.

"Shit!"

"Santana? What are you doing here?"

Santana, still in the process of standing after retrieving her phone, felt her cheeks get hot. Pretending to inspect it for damage, she snapped, "This is my neighborhood, Fabray. What are YOU doing here?"

Quinn shrugged. "Getting out of the house. Wanted to be around people, but not necessarily ones I knew. I guess I never figured you'd deign to visit a public pool."

"You've got that right," Santana said, somewhat recovered now, and grateful for the opportunity to insult something. "It's super gross. I'm here trying to get a job as a lifeguard."

"Can you even swim?"

"Who cares? Have you seen this in a bikini?" she asked, sweeping her hand across her body.

Quinn shook her head. "You're unbelievable. So then why are you out here instead of filling out an application?"

"I got distracted. By. . . text messages."

"Clearly you're perfect lifeguard material. Anyway, I was just leaving. I would say good luck, but for the safety of the children of Lima I really hope they don't hire you."

"Wait, hold up one second, Q. You aren't leaving before we address this new hairstyle you gots goin' on," Santana said, drawing a circle in the air around Quinn's head.

"Santana, you were there when I got it. . . it was your idea."

"So, what, are you taking the summer off from combing it?"

"I was swimming. I just got out of the pool." Quinn reached up and self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth it. Santana's stomach dropped unexpectedly.

"Wasn't purple in New York, either," she pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah, I did that in my bathroom last week. "

Santana smirked. "Judy must love it."

Quinn attempted and failed to suppress a small smile. "She's livid. But I wanted to try out a new personality this summer. At least on my hair, and then . . . we'll see."

"Interesting. Why don't we sit?"

Quinn looked longingly at the exit, then back at Santana, and sighed.

"All right."

"So where's Brittany?" she asked as they laid their towels in the grass in a sunny spot near the back fence.

"How would I know?" Santana said snapped at her.

Quinn opened her mouth to pitch angry words back at Santana, but seeing the way the girl's face fell at the mention of that name, thought better of it. "Sore subject?" she asked.

"I have my own life, you know," Santana replied.

"Yeah, all right, I know. Jesus."

"I think we're stuck in the friend zone," Santana admitted.

Quinn nodded.

"So you're job hunting?"

"Forced to."

"You probably shouldn't have shoplifted from all the stores at the Galleria."

"Yeah, well, where was this wisdom last year?"

"I'm pretty sure I've been telling you to knock it off for the past three years, actually."

"You know what? You're not helpful. Why don't we talk about your summer?"

"There's not much to talk about," Quinn said in a low voice that was equal parts bored and defeated. "I'm working on college applications. Trying to meet a guy who doesn't go to McKinley, and possibly isn't even in love with anyone else. Going to the gym to get my muscle tone back."

_It's back_, Santana affirmed silently.

"Actually, why don't you apply to be a personal trainer at the 24-Hour in town?" Quinn continued. "All mine does is count while I do crunches and stand there looking good in a tank top. You're probably almost qualified for that."

Santana was unsure whether to process that comment as an insult or a compliment.

"So did you already hit on those lifeguards?" she asked, nodding in their direction.

"I don't 'hit on' people. I wait for them to notice me."

"Riiiight," Santana drawled in mock revelation. "Well, have they?"

Quinn scowled. "No."

_Probably because they're not sure which team you're on_, Santana thought. She smiled deviously at the vision forming in her head. "Hand me your sunscreen."

"You could ask nicely."

"I'm trying to help you out, all right? Hand it over."

Quinn slapped the bottle into Santana's hand. Santana squeezed a drop into her palm and ordered Quinn, "Turn around."

Quinn, catching on, eyed Santana warily. "You want to use two girls touching each other to get male attention? That basically makes you a traitor to gay women everywhere. And it's also completely cliché and manipulative."

"Hey, you know what else, Q? It works. Now turn around."

Quinn pursed her lips and did as she was told, turning her back to Santana and folding her legs Indian-style in front of her. She startled, leaping a foot in the air, when Santana's hand brushed over the skin of her upper back.

"Okay, you're gonna have to relax, sweetie pie," Santana scolded. "It doesn't exactly work if you don't look like you're enjoying it."

"And what are you going to do if they actually do come over here?" Quinn asked as Santana applied sunscreen to her shoulders.

"Same thing I've always done," Santana replied. "Play along. Lay on your stomach."

Quinn unwrapped the towel from her waist and lowered herself to the blanket beneath her.

"Are they even looking at us?" she asked.

"Not yet," Santana admitted. "Be patient."

It was weird and also disturbing, but when Santana couldn't see Quinn's face or hear her voice, she became cute gay girl again. She had to wonder if Quinn's new hairstyle or personality or whatever she was calling it was trying to tell her something. Unfortunately, it seemed like having known Quinn for so long was confusing Santana's gaydar like radio interference or something.

Santana squeezed more sunscreen onto her fingertips and massaged it into the sun-warmed skin of Quinn's lower back. Damn, that ass looked good up close.

"Ow!" Quinn cried out suddenly, craning her neck to glare at Santana. "Watch your nails!"

"Sorry," Santana muttered. That actually hadn't been on purpose.

"Are you staring at my ass?"

Santana's head jerked upward. "No. Would you get over yourself?"

Quinn, unconvinced, slowly turned back around.

Santana refreshed her supply of sunscreen one more time, and leaned her body over Quinn's in an exaggerated attempt to reach the length of her outstretched left arm. Quinn made a face as Santana hovered over her. She had never had breasts this uncomfortably close to her head before.

"All right, flip over," Santana said, at last leaning back on her knees.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Quinn asked, sitting up.

"Of course. It's already working," Santana said.

"Really? Are they looking?" Quinn asked, whipping her head around to look over one shoulder and then the other. "I wonder if they play football."

"God, Fabray, could you play it cool?" Santana put a hand on Quinn's shoulder and shoved her toward the ground. Santana couldn't see it on account of Quinn's sunglasses, but she was sure she was currently on the receiving end of one version or another of Quinn's patented death stare.

Undeterred, Santana lowered herself onto her right side next to Quinn and glided her hand, slick with suntan lotion, over Quinn's belly. Quinn lifted her head a few inches off the ground to keep an eye on the proceedings, and at the flexing of her abs Santana dropped the pretense of shielding Quinn from UV rays and ran her fingertips over the subtle bumps and ridges.

"Uhh, Santana?" Quinn inquired, squirming slightly.

"Shhh, relax. Act natural," Santana whispered insistently, as though she were afraid someone nearby would hear, although she had decidedly not looked away from Quinn's body to check and see if any lifeguards had discovered them.

"I think they're looking at us, Q," she lied. "Want to turn them on?"

"I thought that's what we were doing," Quinn said.

"No, I mean like . . . really."

"Are you kidding me, Santana?" Quinn asked.

"Just trust me," Santana said. Keeping her hand resting lightly on Quinn's stomach, she bent down and kissed her lips.

Quinn's body stiffened, and she tried to sit up. "Sant—" she started and stopped. Her hand flew up to Santana's face and Santana flinched, certain she was about to be slapped. Instead, Quinn grabbed her chin and pushed her face away.

They stared at each other, Quinn trying to process that Santana had actually fucking done that, and Santana still halfway anticipating violence. When it didn't occur, she chose to be encouraged by things being less bad than she expected, and tried again.

She was almost too surprised to actually complete the kiss when her lips reached their target unimpeded a second time.

"Okay, what the hell?" Quinn asked, shoving her harder this time, but not before Santana was reeling from getting a good taste of her lips.

"What?" Santana shrugged, feigning exasperation.

"Are we really doing this to get those lifeguards' attention, or is this for your benefit?"

"Do you care, as long as it works?" Santana said.

Quinn sighed. "I've told you, I don't like you like that."

"Umm, I don't either," Santana insisted. "So why don't you quit your yakking? I'm trying to get you a man, and in the process pretend you're not you, just like, someone with hot hair."

"Thanks."

"Q, they're totally looking now," Santana said, and it was actually true this time. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and let a smile creep into the corners of her mouth.

Quinn chewed her bottom lip, considering. "Fine," she said, after an endless pause. "But keep your hands to yourself."

"Ugh, don't flatter yourself," Santana said.

Then she leaned in and pressed slow, soft kisses against Quinn's mouth. It sort of added to the excitement, this feeling that she could get beaten up at any second for what she was doing. So far, though, the only adverse consequence was the building of what was certain to be complete and utter sexual frustration.

She pressed her left hand harder into Quinn's stomach. Quinn's hand twitched against the blanket beneath her.

Santana was lost in her enjoyment of the feel of Quinn's upper lip in her mouth when Quinn's tongue darted from her mouth and brushed across the top of Santana's lower lip. Santana let out a small whimper and recoiled, bringing her fingers to her lips. There was no way that was an accident. She stared down at Quinn in horror.

"What?" Quinn asked, her expression inscrutable behind dark glasses. "If you insist we're going to get their attention, let's get their attention."

" . . . What?" was all the shock permitted Santana to say.

Quinn just lay there, looking up at her defiantly from the blanket.

Well, okay then.

Just because Santana didn't understand it didn't mean she was going to turn it down. With the distinct and giddy sense that events had now been freed from her grasp of control, Santana lowered her head and slid her tongue between Quinn's parted lips.

And Quinn let her. She held her lips open, allowing Santana to taste her tongue, to feel her way across the inside of her lips.

Breathless and still somewhat in shock, Santana pulled back. She gazed blearily down at Quinn, eyes glued to her lips. Was this happening? Quinn lifted her chin toward Santana, almost imperceptibly. It probably wasn't even on purpose. For Santana, it was a green light.

The next minutes were a blurry rush of pushing Quinn's tongue around inside her mouth. Santana kept her movements slow and deliberate at first, afraid with each new maneuver that she would scare Quinn off and it would all be over. Eventually, as her bravery accumulated, she coaxed Quinn's tongue into motion.

Quinn offered timid, tentative resistance at first; soon she was pushing back hard as Santana worked her way into deeper corners of her mouth. And when Santana got truly aggressive, Quinn responded by breaking the plane of Santana's lips, fighting her way inside her mouth, fingers wrinkling the blanket beneath her.

In the parts of her brain that could still process anything, Santana was aware that what she was doing was working; it didn't matter that Quinn had stiffened the rest of her body against any possible signs of enjoyment. Santana had allowed herself to be kissed by plenty of people she didn't want to be kissing, and what Quinn was doing right now was not how you do it. No, her mouth was pliable, open. And now, it was reciprocating every movement of Santana's tongue.

So partly because the lack of any other response pissed her off, and partly because Quinn's tongue had her hormones raging so hard she could practically hear them tearing through her bloodstream, Santana shifted her weight from her side to her center, until she was practically on top of Quinn. She got no acknowledgement, but she also didn't get shoved away, and she was starting to think that maybe she could get away with some really good stuff. Her hand was still at Quinn's stomach, but that's not where she wanted it. She opened her mouth wider against Quinn's and let her left hand rake through blonde and purple hair. Quinn's head tilted back with the force of it, and Santana grabbed and held on, her tongue now reaching for tonsils.

And they certainly had attention now.

Amid a few catcalls and whistles came the command "Get a room!" from an indignant female voice.

"Hey, there are kids here!" an older man's voice came next.

Santana, currently getting away with murder and not much caring who didn't like it, responded by sliding her thigh between Quinn's legs, curling her toes under, and straightening her knee. Quinn let out a small noise, like a stifled whimper at the back of her throat.

"What was that?" Santana smiled against her lips.

And then there were hands beneath her armpits, lifting her to a standing position. The rough polyester-nylon blend of a cheap security guard uniform scratched at the bare skin of her back. In front of her, the two lifeguards to whom Santana owed this entire situation were hoisting a disheveled Quinn Fabray to her feet.

"Gather your things, ladies," the voice behind Santana demanded. "The two of you are no longer welcome at this community location."

Santana fought the urge to elbow the guard in his gut, not because she worried about the repercussions, but because of the look Quinn was giving her right now. Her sunglasses had fallen from her face in the involuntary journey to her feet, and the way she was staring at Santana with her eyes and her mouth both half-open was making it clear that they weren't finished here.

In a daze, Santana helped Quinn pick up their blankets and bags.

Neither said a word as they were ushered from the premises.

"We see this again, girls, and we'll be alerting both your parents and the local police department," the guard warned as he closed the gate behind them.

Quinn and Santana continued walking in silence until they reached the end of the sidewalk on the other side of the chain-link fence that surrounded the grounds. Santana noted that, at least upon a first glance, the parking lot in front of them was empty. Casting aside her belongings, she grabbed Quinn's hair with both hands, pushed her up against the fence, and put her tongue back inside Quinn's mouth.

Santana did not like that Quinn still held a blanket between them, so she knocked it from her hands. Quinn wrapped her fingers around the fence behind her hips.

Santana took her mouth from Quinn's and slid her lips across her cheek, sucking on her neck just below the jaw line. It was gentle at first, then . . . not.

Quinn unwrapped the fingers of her right hand from the fence and brought them to Santana's neck with a little shove. "There better be no evidence of this later," she hissed.

"Probably too late," Santana smiled, and pulled the string of Quinn's bikini top at the back of her neck, dismantling the knot.

"You are such a bitch," Quinn gasped. But Santana heard nothing, just saw the sun-dried blonde wisps of hair falling over Quinn's face and her newly-bare shoulders. She dipped her head and with one finger slipped aside the left cup of Quinn's bathing suit top. She took Quinn's nipple into her mouth, massaging it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth just behind her teeth.

What followed was a small victory for Santana, as Quinn's hand finally went somewhere that wasn't the result of a defense maneuver or a calculated case of _not _touching. This time it went to the back of Santana's head, and there was nothing Quinn could do to stop it.

Santana lifted her head then, lips wet and flushed. "That's it," she said, looking up at Quinn above the top of her sunglasses. "I'm about to do things that are gonna get us arrested." She took Quinn's arm and led her into the parking lot. "Get in my car."

"Our stuff . . ." Quinn protested weakly, trying in vain to hold up the top of her swimsuit as they walked.

"Buy new stuff later," Santana said.

Santana's car was about 120 degrees inside, even after she turned on the ignition and opened all the windows. Quinn, because Santana had opened the door and shoved her inside, sat in the back seat against the passenger side door, with her legs stretched out in front of her.

Santana, letting the car cool off, relented and went back for their bags and blankets, shoving everything unceremoniously into the trunk. Quinn turned her head to watch the other girl's every move, contemplating anew every few seconds the idea of opening the door behind her and making a run for it.

By the time Santana joined Quinn in the back seat, sweat already glistened on Quinn's skin. Santana, nervously aware of the opportunity she'd given Quinn to come to her senses, wasted no more time. She crawled across the seat on hands and knees, going straight for Quinn's neck, sucking on her salty pulse point.

"Take your top off," she requested of Quinn, whose hands remained resolutely glued to the fabric of the car seat beneath her.

"Isn't that your job?" Quinn scoffed breathlessly.

"Fine," Santana replied. "Then you take mine off."

Beaten by this logical progression, Quinn sucked on the inside of her cheek and found herself in the surreal position of peeling her bathing suit top down and off at Santana Lopez's request.

Santana inched down Quinn's body until her tongue could wind circles around the soft flesh of her breasts. Quinn let out a silent sigh and arched her back a little, the only acknowledgement that what was being done to her was in the realm of acceptable. Sucking her nipple, though, again got a reaction. Santana felt one insistent hand curling fingers into her ribcage, and it occurred to her that it was possible that no one had ever done this to Quinn before. Noah surely wouldn't have taken the time in his rush to fuck her before the wine coolers wore off, and as far as Santana knew she was a prudish tease with everyone else.

Either way, it was clear that she liked it. She wouldn't give Santana the further satisfaction of making it obvious that she did – even her hand, after the initial contact, had returned to the seat beside her – but it was impossible to hide it entirely. The way her mouth had pulled back into a grimace, for one, was a giveaway. The slight, involuntary tilting of her hips into Santana's body was another. These things did not go unnoticed by Santana, who decided she was enjoying being something of a pioneer and spent some time alternating between applying her tongue in rough, wet strokes over Quinn's nipples, and sucking.

She let her hands roam freely in Quinn's hair and up and down the soft, hot skin of her back – as long as Quinn was permitting it, why the fuck not? At this point Santana saw no purpose in trying to hide that at the very least she was enjoying what was happening, so she held back nothing from the low, throaty noises the texture of Quinn's tits in her mouth elicited. She could not help but feel, among other things, victorious. _Look what I got you to do, Fabray._

She reached her hand behind her back and released the clasp of her bathing suit top. The fabric loosened and her half-covered breasts fell against Quinn's lower abdomen. Against them, she felt the rise and fall of Quinn's heavy breath. She reached between their bodies to pull the garment away entirely.

Quinn's mouth fell open when Santana's bare nipples landed on her belly.

Santana pulled back onto all fours, wanting to observe the state of things. Quinn leaned panting against the car door, her head turned toward the back window, sweat gathering at her brow and the base of her hair line at the neck.

"What are you looking at?" she asked impatiently, not turning to look at Santana.

_My handiwork_, Santana thought to herself. _Just look at you_.

But she said, "Trying to figure out if I've got you ready yet. I don't have all day."

"I can't believe the amazing choices I make," Quinn muttered. "Get it over with, then."

Santana smiled and lowered her body against Quinn's once more. "Was that your way of telling me to fuck you?"

"Me getting in this fucking car was my way of telling you that," Quinn said. "Let's go."

Santana's smirk faded just a little. Jesus Christ, she could be scary.

She yanked at Quinn's bathing suit bottoms until she lifted her ass from the seat and allowed them to be taken from her body. Santana had already been able to smell her, but the movement of her legs and lack of fabric barrier turned it into a beacon, begging for her attention. She dragged her lips and the tip of her tongue lightly down Quinn's body, lingering between her legs with her lips just over Quinn's center. Sweet Jesus, that was good. Quinn held her breath, frozen to the seat. Santana returned her lips to Quinn's, took hold of the back of her neck with her right hand, and brushed the fingers of her left through the curls between Quinn's legs.

Quinn inhaled sharply and stiffened again. Santana pushed her right thigh away and ran her fingers through hot slickness, gathering the ample wetness and massaging it into Quinn's clit.

Quinn's head fell back and she raised one hand above her head, searching for something to hold onto, settling for pressing it against the glass of the window. Santana ran her tongue along the inside of her teeth, observing Quinn's reaction. This would do. She repeated the motion with her hand – dip, drag, then circle until her fingertips dried and she needed to go back. She gritted her teeth. God, every fiber of her being was begging her to fuck, to plunge inside and make this girl's body shake. Or, at least, to find the tip of that little nub between her fingers and use it to drive her into oblivion. She forced herself to hold back.

_Your move, Fabray_, she thought.

Santana was already slick with sweat and nearly ready to scream in frustration by the time Quinn was finally forced to ask for more. As Santana's fingers ran across her opening one more time Quinn rolled her hips, taking Santana's fingers in up to the first knuckle. It was a small movement, but it was everything - an admission, a permission slip, a demand. Whatever happened from here, Santana would know that it was Quinn who started the fucking.

Santana plunged her two middle fingers inside Quinn and curled them toward the front of her body. Quinn let out a strangled noise and clenched around Santana's fingers. Santana's eyes rolled back in her head and she leaned forward. She would need serious leverage for what she was about to do.

"Take your glasses off," Santana rasped. "See myself. . .s'weird."

Quinn shook her head and Santana decided she didn't care enough to make it a thing. She closed her eyes and started fucking her.

Quinn was so wet her body made those sticky, squishing sounds that Santana fucking loved. She started fast and forceful, needing to get that out of her system, relishing the noises of surprise and initial discomfort it drew from Quinn. She eased up into long, slow, friction-filled plunges, sometimes even staying out a beat too long just to make sure Quinn really _needed_ it, smiling inwardly every time there was a hint of a squirm.

A few minutes into this, Quinn, her mouth open and brow furrowed in concentration, surrendered another victory. She dug the nails of both hands into the skin of Santana's back.

"Yeah," Santana panted in acknowledgement.

Quinn slouched downward until she was nearly laying flat in Santana's back seat, one heel pressed insistently into the back of Santana's thigh, pushing it downward to thrust her hips upward at the apex of each stroke of Santana's fingers.

Santana tried a trick that she had accidentally learned on Brittany, stacking her fingers one on top of the other inside Quinn's body. She contorted her hand to apply pressure to Quinn's clit with the pad of her thumb. At this, Quinn uttered an unintelligible string of syllables, bit her bottom lip, and craned her head backwards. It wouldn't be long now.

"I want to fucking hear you when you come," Santana said into Quinn's ear, arm working furiously on her body. "Let me hear you like it, or I'll stop."

"Like hell you will," Quinn spat back.

Santana pulled her hair, eliciting a yelp of pain and surprise. "Try me."

"Mmmff, oww," Quinn said, wincing.

"Shhh, it's good," Santana whispered back, shaking her head.

"Nooo," Quinn moaned, contorting her face in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Santana nodded, watching.

"Noo, it's – wait, God, THERE," Quinn cried out. Santana let go of Quinn's hair.

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut. Her skin and lips darkened. Her arms, suddenly un-self conscious, wrapped around Santana's body. And the foot that had been pressing into her thigh slid down the length of Santana's leg, digging into her ankle - once, twice, three times - as Quinn jolted her body against Santana's in those last, desperate seconds. She clung to Santana as her muscles clenched in unison, and let the girl's name fall from her lips in a choked whisper.

Santana's head spun, her face pulled into the skin of Quinn's neck by the violence of the moment.

Shit, that was way more _intimate_ than she had been expecting.

"Oh my God," Quinn whispered, breathing hard and rocking her hips lightly back and forth as she came down. Santana felt the spasms in Quinn's muscles subside as her insides opened up again. Was this feeling a first for Quinn, too?

Quinn, still in the middle of deep, jagged breaths, pushed the damp hair back from her face and tried to shift back up to a sitting position. Santana, understanding that any incidental intimacy that had occurred between them was over, extricated herself from Quinn's limbs and sat back on her knees.

Quinn looked at her directly for the first time since they had exited the pool. "People can see your boobs if you sit up like that," she pointed out.

"Lucky them," Santana shot back, hoping her voice wasn't shaking, because every muscle in her body seemed to be vibrating.

"I would like to not get caught," Quinn responded coolly. She turned away, pulled her legs out from under Santana, and fumbled for her bathing suit bottoms.

"What, not even a thank you?" Santana said, disgusted with herself for giving a shit that Quinn was in such an all-fired hurry to get away from her.

"I'm not leaving," Quinn said incredulously. "I just don't want my bare ass in your car window."

" . . . Oh."

"God, I can't tell if you think less of me or of yourself for saying that," Quinn said.

Santana, chastised and annoyingly relieved, said nothing.

"Look, I know you can't keep a secret to save your life, Santana," Quinn continued, "but if you tell people I'm bad at this, my plan is to sell Lord Tubbington on craigslist and tell Brittany it was you."

"Nobody would pay anything for that cat. Wait, bad at what?"

"Lie down," Quinn commanded, sliding backwards. She tugged at Santana's bathing suit to tell her to get rid of it, and began arranging herself so that her face hovered over Santana's lower abdomen.

At first, Santana didn't move. Was she. . . ? No. No way.

"Uhh, Q?"

"I don't see why there's any need for discussion," Quinn snapped.

"But, like . . . why?" Santana asked.

Quinn opened her mouth and closed it again. "Look. It's not about you, all right? If you'd rather not, I can leave and let you take care of this yourself."

"No!" Santana blurted out, eyes widening. "No. It's just . . . " she trailed off, trying to find a graceful way to end her sentence. She opted for a secondary concern. "I mean, you really want to try this for the first time in the back seat of a car?"

"Maybe you'd rather go back inside the pool?"

"I'm just saying this is, like, advanced mechanics."

"Well maybe if you would LIE DOWN like I said it would be a little easier." Quinn glowered at Santana over the top of her sunglasses.

Santana grabbed them from her face and threw them into the front seat with a clatter. "Fine," she said, leaning back against the door. Quinn glared, then grabbed the sides of Santana's bathing suit and pulled it down.

"So what are you staring at?" Santana asked, a little too hazy to be as amused as she should be at the terrified look on Quinn's face.

"Nothing," Quinn said. She adjusted backwards, scrunching one leg beneath her and letting the other rest on the floor, and tentatively took hold of Santana at the hips. She stared for a moment more, lowered her head, and lightly touched her tongue to the sticky skin between Santana's legs.

Santana's whole body reacted with a tremor. She was so worked up after fucking Quinn's brains out that just that little touch set her on fire. Encouraged, Quinn pressed harder with her tongue. Santana, not in the mood to be teased, reached down and open the folds of her skin, draping one leg around Quinn's shoulders.

Quinn, to her credit, took the hint. And soon Santana was biting her own forearm to keep from crying out embarrassingly loudly as a warm, wet tongue slid through her stickiness. She looked down to see all that streaked hair falling across her upper thighs and hips, and needed to wind her fingers through it.

Quinn pulled back in a moment, panting visibly.

"Breathe through your nose," Santana advised, voice tense and low. "Suck here," she said, rolling a finger over her clit, "and breathe through your nose."

Quinn did as she was told, sort of, and Santana suddenly remembered more Spanish than usual. Funny how that only seemed to happen during moments of . . . passion.

Santana pressed her fingertips into the back of Quinn's head, asking for pressure. Quinn reached back and batted her away.

"Christ, do you want to learn or not?" Santana asked, exasperated and getting desperate.

"Can't breathe," Quinn said.

"You're working too hard, all right?" Santana said, running her fingers into her own hair in frustration. "Use the tip of your tongue. Just . . . find the right place and I'll do the rest."

"What place?" Quinn asked.

"Where you touch yourself . . . it's . . . same."

Santana's legs knew before she did when Quinn had found the place. The muscles of her thighs spasmed and her clit burned like fire. She grabbed the back of Quinn's hair with one hand and braced herself against the door behind her head with the other, pushing herself rhythmically against Quinn's mouth. Quinn dug her nails into Santana's hips and held on for dear life while Santana writhed and uttered a bunch of words Quinn certainly didn't know from Schue's Spanish class. Quinn had never been in this position before, but she knew Santana had come when the pressure of her thighs around Quinn's neck and shoulders let up, and her chin was suddenly soaked.

As the flurry of motion slowed, Santana murmured to herself and sucked on the fingers that had been inside of Quinn. Since Santana's eyes were closed, Quinn indulged her curiosity, watching her.

Quinn took deep gulps of air now, because she could. She wiped her lips and chin with her hand, self-conscious and unsure whether people would be able to see that later.

Santana still kept her eyes closed, twirling the fingers of her right hand around strands of Quinn's hair and trailing the fingertips of her left up and down the bare skin of her own stomach. Quinn shifted, unclear on what she was supposed to do now, her legs beginning to fall asleep – or maybe it's that she was just now beginning to notice. The movement broke Santana out of her dreamy state; she seemed to just now remember that Quinn was even there. She sat up a little and placed two fingers under Quinn's chin, guiding her lips to her own, kissing her softly.

"Tastes good on you," she said with an approving smile.

Quinn turned pink as Santana sucked on her bottom lip.

"That was . . . simultaneously awful and awesome," Quinn said in a rare moment of candor.

"Mmm, no arguments with that assessment," Santana said. She paused and added, "But once you get good at it? It's just awesome."

"I don't speak Spanish, but I don't think those were complaints," Quinn replied, keen to remind Santana that she had, in fact, gotten the job done.

"Mmhmm, so anyway," Santana said, "Brittany never hears about this, got that?"

"Like I'm going to tell people about this."

"I would if I were you," Santana shrugged. "Actually, the next time Finn pisses me off, I'll probably tell him."

Quinn smirked despite herself.

Once she had her bathing suit back on, Santana opened her door and stood in the bright sun of the parking lot, stretching and finding kinks in her muscles. Worth it. She opened the trunk and rummaged through the mess to find Quinn's things, dumping them unceremoniously into her arms.

"So do you like, need a ride home?" Santana asked.

"Chivalrous," Quinn said flatly. "But no. What do you think, that I hitchhiked here? My car is right over there." Hands full, she gestured with her elbow.

Santana turned and looked, and her jaw dropped. "You have Russell's Tahoe? We just fucked in a BMW sedan and you have a gigantic SUV twenty feet away?"

"Okay, keep your voice down, for one. And for another, you didn't give me much of a choice. You might as well have clubbed me over the head and dragged me to your cave. And . . . all right. It's possible I wasn't thinking that clearly at the time."

"Next time, then?" Santana asked with a self-satisfied smile.

Quinn put her sunglasses back on, and shrugged as she started toward her car.

"I don't know why there would be a next time," she said.

Santana leaned against the trunk of her car, watching Quinn walk away. She folded her arms and put one hand over her mouth, replaying images of Quinn coming in her arms.

_Whatever, I'll see you next time, Fabray._


End file.
